All the time she had now been in Petershof had not sufficed to make her indifferent to the sadness of her surroundings.

In vain the Disagreeable Man's preachings, in vain her own reasonings with herself.
These people here who suffered, and faded, and passed away, who were they to her?
Why should the faintest shadow steal across her soul on account of them?
There was no reason.

And still she felt for them all, she who in the old days would have thought it waste of time to spare a moment's reflection on anything so unimportant as the sufferings of an _individual_ human being.
And the bridge between her former and her present self was her own illness.
What dull-minded sheep we must all be, how lacking in the very elements of imagination, since we are only able to learn by personal experience of grief and suffering, something about the suffering and grief of others! Yea, how the dogs must wonder at us: those dogs who know when we are in pain or trouble, and nestle nearer to us.
So Bernardine reached her own door.

She heard her name called, and, turning round, saw Mrs.Reffold.There was a scared look on the beautiful face.
"Miss Holme," she said, "I have been sent for--I daren't go to him alone--I want you--he is worse.

I am".